“You shall have both,” said Marcasse, handing me his flask, “but first of all here is something to cheer you up.  I am going to the stable to get the horse ready.”

“No, I will go myself,” said Patience; “you see to the wants of this young man.”

And he passed into another lower hall, which served as a stable for the cure’s horse during the visits which the good priest paid him.  They brought the animal through the room where we were; and Patience, after arranging the cure’s cloak on the saddle, with fatherly care helped Edmee to mount.

“One moment,” she said, before letting them lead her out.  “Monsieur le Cure, will you promise me on the salvation of your soul not to leave my cousin before I return with my father to fetch him?”

“I promise solemnly,” replied the cure.

“And you, Bernard,” said Edmee, “will you give me your word of honour to wait for me here?”

“I can’t say,” I answered; “that will depend on the length of your absence and on my patience; but you know quite well, cousin, that we shall meet again, even if it be in hell; and for my part, the sooner the better.”

By the light of the brand which Patience was holding to examine the horse’s harness, I saw her beautiful face flush and then turn pale.  Then she raised her eyes which had been lowered in sorrow, and looked at me fixedly with a strange expression.

“Are we ready to start?” said Marcasse, opening the door.

“Yes, forward,” said Patience, taking the bridle.  “Edmee, my child, take care to bend down while passing under the door.”

“What is the matter, Blaireau?” said Marcasse, stopping on the threshold and thrusting out the point of his sword, gloriously rusted by the blood of the rodent tribe.

Blaireau did not stir, and if he had not been born dumb, as his master said, he would have barked.  But he gave warning as usual by a sort of dry cough.  This was his most emphatic sign of anger and uneasiness.

“There must be something down there,” said Marcasse; and he boldly advanced into the darkness, after making a sign to the rider not to follow.  The report of firearms made us all start.  Edmee jumped down lightly from her horse, and I did not fail to notice that some impulse at once prompted her to come and stand behind my chair.  Patience rushed out of the tower.  The cure ran to the frightened horse, which was rearing and backing toward us.  Blaireau managed to bark.  I forgot my sprain, and in a single bound I was outside.

A man covered with wounds, and with the blood streaming from him, was lying across the doorway.  It was my Uncle Laurence.  He had been mortally wounded at the siege of Roche-Mauprat, and had come to die under our eyes.  With him was his brother Leonard, who had just fired his last pistol shot at random, luckily without hitting any one.  Patience’s first impulse was to prepare to defend himself.  On recognising Marcasse, however, the fugitives, far